


288 Hours

by CantStopImagining



Series: I love you more than all of the distance between us [2]
Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, Holidays, New Years, a WHOLE lot of fluff, also I've never been to san francisco and that's very obvious, long distance, too many tags, too much dialogue, with a side serving of low-key scenes of a sexual nature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:51:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9128770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantStopImagining/pseuds/CantStopImagining
Summary: “How long do I have you for?” Holtzmann asks, snuggled into Erin’s chest. She can’t believe she hasn’t asked already.Erin yawns, fingers working their way through loose blonde curls. Forever, she thinks.“My flight’s on January 5th.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, I want to apologise for the fact I already started a holiday story and didn't finish it (yet), and it's New Years Eve and Christmas has been and I'm the worst. I've been working away at this monster - which started out as a short thing to tag onto the end of 2,908 Miles, but nearly 8,000 words later... whoops - for what seems like forever. I was so overwhelmed by everyone's response to that story that I felt like I needed to do a follow up. I'm not sure this is what I expected that follow up to be... but it's here now.
> 
> I haven't beta'd this or even really read over it (except to add italics... why do I use italics so much and why do I always forget to code them when I'm initially writing it? Doh) because it's 5am and I told myself I'd have this posted by NYE and yeah. There are some bits that are more risqué than I'm used to writing (which is hilarious because you'll see how 'low-key' they are when you get to them - I'm as embarrassed about smut as Erin Gilbert is). I want to remind you that the way this is written, not all of it is chronological.
> 
> This is dedicated to all those gorgeous people who commented on the last one, especially those of you in long-distance relationships. You make my heart happy. (Also shoutout to Jillian (not Holtzmann) and Maddie - I totally borrowed your ice-skating scenario without meaning to).
> 
> Happy New Year :)

Holzmann shows her around the lab in a flourish, tugging her by their joint hands, pointing out various pieces of equipment with names that Erin only vaguely follows along with, until they’re both out of breath, Holtzmann from talking a mile a minute, and Erin from struggling to keep up.

Eventually, she pulls the blonde to a stop, tangling their fingers together.

“No offence - and I honestly really do want to see your whole lab, and watch you in your element but… I was kind of hoping we could…,” she bites her lip, gestures towards the door to the facility.

Holtzmann gazes at her for a long moment, and then something seems to click into place in her brilliant mind, because her eyebrows shoot up, and her eyes widen, and she looks like a cartoon depiction of shock.

“My apartment looks like a bomb hit it,” she says, thinking back to Erin chastising her for leaving clothes on the floor of her apartment back in New York, even pausing their fevered kisses to unhook her discarded bra from a floor lamp once.

“Is the bed clear?” Erin asks, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as her hands move to Holtzmann’s hips.

She nods enthusiastically.

-

Erin initially insists on cooking them a proper Christmas dinner.

Then she sees the state of the kitchen.

“I’m a terrible cook anyway,” she admits, rifling through a drawer of take-out menus to find somewhere that might actually be open, “I’d probably set your apartment on fire.”

Smirking, Holtzmann watches her from the couch, the comforter from the bed pulled up around her chest. Erin’s wearing the shirt Holtz was wearing in the lab the day before, and very little else.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she tells her, grinning at the way Erin rolls her eyes over her shoulder.

-

When they touch each other, it’s heated and desperate, clothes flying in all directions until they’re both naked, and only then does Holtz slow down. She runs her fingers over every inch of Erin, followed by her mouth, as if she’s determining that _yes_ , she’s real and _yes_ she’s here, and this isn’t all some elaborate dream.

They make love like two people who have never been touched. It’s only been months, but it feels like a lifetime. They light each other on fire, every kiss, every stroke, every breath perfectly timed, perfectly placed, their bodies moving in perfect synchrony with each other, like they’ve done this hundreds of times, like they didn’t only have two weeks’ practice.

“Man, Santa really got it right this year,” Holtz murmurs against Erin’s shoulder, as the red-head laughs, struggling to catch her breath, Holtzmann’s fingers still lazily drawing patterns against the skin of her thighs.

The digital alarm clock by the side of the bed reads 00:27. It’s officially Christmas Day.

“I love you,” Erin breathes, low and husky, as Holtzmann’s mouth drifts across her collarbone. 

Holtzmann’s lips turn up into a smile. She’s never going to get used to hearing those words, in the flesh, not carried along a phone line, or over a dodgy Skype connection. If the weight of their bodies pressed together isn’t enough of an anchor into reality, those words are, and Holtzmann reaches up to capture her lips again, kissing her more thoroughly, feeling as though she might explode with joy.

-

“How long do I have you for?” Holtzmann asks, snuggled into Erin’s chest. She can’t believe she hasn’t asked already.

Erin yawns, fingers working their way through loose blonde curls. _Forever_ , she thinks.

“My flight’s on January 5th.”

Holtzmann’s mouth drops into an exaggerated frown. Erin gazes up at her, lifting her fingers to stroke along her jaw. She kisses her, lazily, and Holtz melts against her.

-

It’s killing Erin, having to live out of a suitcase. Holtzmann can sense it. Erin likes organisation, order. She doesn’t like having to dig through a bag to find the clothes she wants.

At home, she even _irons_ her damn jeans.

It’s Christmas Day, and Holtzmann couldn’t care less what she wears. She tells her this, tells her to stay in that oversized blue and white shirt, that they aren’t going anywhere anyway.

“I’m not opening the door for our takeout wearing this,” Erin says, fingering the hem of the shirt, which falls far above her knees, “I’ll give the poor delivery kid a heart attack.”

“Hey, it’ll be a reward for having to work on Christmas! It’ll make their day!”

Erin rolls her eyes.

She’s emptied half her neatly folded suitcase by the time she finds the sweater she’s looking for. It’s crimson, with a delicate festive deer and snowflake pattern across the chest. Because, _of course_ , Erin had planned out her Christmas Day outfit ahead of time. She pairs it with a plaid skirt - a-line, short, not the type she used to wear to work - which takes another few minutes of rummaging to find.

Holtzmann disappears into her bedroom, searches through her closet until she finds what she’s looking for. She pulls it on over the top of her tank top and Star Wars pyjama pants.

The laugh Erin lets out when she sees her is obnoxious and unattractive. She even snorts. Holtzmann loves it, is overcome by how much she loves this woman, how _in love_ she is.

“That… that is… the worst Christmas… sweater… I’ve ever seen,” Erin gasps between laughs, having to hold her fingers under her eyes to stop tears from sliding down her cheeks.

Holtzmann looks down at the monstrosity. It’s a galaxy print, with kittens wearing Santa hats and fairy lights, lounging on slices of pizza, displayed prominently across the front.

“It’s perfect,” Erin concedes, wiping tears away and tugging Holtzmann close to her.

-

They spend the day mostly curled up on the couch, watching TV. They watch The Muppet Christmas Carol, and Home Alone, and It’s A Wonderful Life. Holtzmann sings along, and gives running commentary, analysing the traps Macaulay Culkin sets, one by one, in a way that suggests she _might_ have tried out a few of them herself.

Abby calls. She’s drunk and rambling about how glad she is to have Erin back in her life. Erin momentarily feels guilty for not going home to Michigan with her. She’s spent a long time feeling guilty. Abby knows this, and calls her out on it before she can even say anything.

“I told you, it’s done. Forgotten. Finito,” she slurs, and Erin can picture the hand movements that go with it, even though she can’t see her.

Eventually, she gets dragged away from the phone by a relative, and Erin’s overwhelmed by how much she misses Abby’s family; her mom who always looked after her like she was one of her own, her dad with his soccer memorabilia and big, hearty laugh. They were practically like Erin’s second parents.

Patty doesn’t call, but she does text. She sends a selfie, her grinning wide with a whole bunch of her nieces and nephews crammed in behind her. She sends a picture of her uncle, with the replica Ecto-1 Holtzmann made for him, packaged carefully all the way from San Francisco, and he looks reluctantly pleased. Holtzmann punches the air, snatches Erin’s phone and sends Patty a long sequence of emojis (a feature Erin hasn’t quite figured out herself yet).

 **I hope y’all are having a real good time. I love you freaks** , Patty texts, and then: Holtzy, I don’t want to hear details.

Erin falls asleep part way through an old Angela Lansbury musical, curled into Holtzmann’s side, before the takeout has even arrived.

When she wakes, the TV is off, and the room is dark, and Holtzmann is staring at her. She doesn't know how much time has passed.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, yawning, “I guess the time difference took it out of me more than I thought.”

Holtzmann continues to stare at her, unblinking, until Erin gets uncomfortable under her scrutiny, scrunching her nose up and tugging the comforter subconsciously up over her body.

“What?”

“You’re actually here. It’s Christmas. And you’re here. I can watch you sleep, and not with a creepy webcam I’ve installed in your bedroom!”

Erin frowns, “wait, what? You did what?”

Holtzmann flaps her away, “kidding, kidding. Though…”

Erin hits her playfully on the shoulder, burying her face in Holtzmann’s chest. Leaning her head down so their faces are as close to the same level as possible, Holtzmann tries to lightly tug Erin’s chin up, so she’ll look at her.

“Eurghhhh no, morning breath,” Erin squeaks.

“It’s…. 6:52pm” she responds, not relenting.

“Holtz…”

“Technically it’s evening breath. And I love your evening breath. I’ve missed it, even.”

Erin screws her face up, but eventually looks up, her nose inches away from Holtzmann’s. Holtz’s arms are wrapped around her, and she’s half in her lap despite all the scrambling to try and get away, and she’s conscious of how bad she must smell, how crumpled her clothes are, how messy her hair is.

“Hi,” she whispers, gazing up into Holtzmann’s shimmering blue eyes.

“Hi.”

They kiss, softly. Erin lifts her hands to cup Holtzmann’s face, her thumb absently rubbing against soft skin on her cheek, and it’s perfect, spending Christmas Day here. The best Christmas Day she’s ever had.

“You’re right,” Holtzmann murmurs as they pull apart, “your evening breath is terrible.”

Erin glares, moving her hands to Holtz’s ribs, and tickling and prodding until the blonde is gasping for mercy, apologising profusely.

-

“Ibroughtyousomething,” Erin blurts, right as they’re about to go to bed. Her cheeks are crimson and she’s rocking back and forth on her toes, “please don’t laugh.”

Holtzmann can’t hold back the laughter, even with her hand pressed over her mouth.

She can’t decide if it’s the fact it’s bright purple, or the fact Erin’s holding it.

“I cannot… believe… you - _you_ , Erin Gilbert, former stick-in-the-ass Columbia professor - you…” she has actual tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“Forget it,” Erin huffs, dropping it onto the bed and holding her head in her hands.

“No, no, it’s just… you brought that through airport security?”

“It was _in my case_ , it’s not like I just had it out in the open.”

“But the… X Ray machines. I would have _paid_ to see your anxious little blushing face watching that go through. I never would have thought you’d have the balls. No pun intended.”

“Shut up,” Erin says, still hiding her face.

“No, seriously, I’m impressed. I’ve seen you in a whole new light. You’re… _harder_ than I thought.”

Erin groans, “shut up or we’re never using it ever.”  
 That does it. Holtzmann moves towards her, and pries her hands from her face, kissing her deeply, unable to stop smiling against her lips.

-

“There’s this diner we have to go to,” Holtzmann says, already enthusiastically planning the next week.  
 Erin pretends she doesn’t want a plan. She does. She always wants a plan.

“Judging from your expression, the food’s otherworldly?”

Cackling, Holtzmann shakes her head, “no, it’s freaking awful, but they have glasses shaped like rocket ships, and their desserts come with sparklers.”

-

The black leather straps across the pale, soft skin of Holtzmann’s hips are sort of mesmerising. Erin’s always been a prude, never thought she’d be into this. Not in a million years.

But, god, she is.

“Stop doing… _that_ ,” Erin says, frowning.

“I’m sorry, it’s just,” Holtzmann laughs, flopping her hand about, mimicking the purple plastic between her legs.

Erin rolls her eyes.

-

“Do we have to do boring stuff like going on the cable cars and going to museums?”

Erin shakes her head, “we can do whatever you want to do. I don’t care. I’m just happy to be with you.”

The grin that breaks across Holtzmann’s face is more than enough of a reward.

-

 

“Fuck,” Holtzmann hisses, guiding her hands to grab tighter onto Erin’s thighs, her ass, whatever she can grasp, as she moves, bobbing up and down above her.

She certainly isn’t laughing anymore.

Erin’s never taken control like this before, and _christ_ if it isn’t the hottest thing Holtz has ever experienced. Being straddled in the dark of her apartment, the outline of Erin’s curves, the swell of her breasts, and her tanned, toned stomach, highlighted by the glow from the strings of fairy lights draped across the headboard.

She hasn’t even been touched yet, and she’s aching, hips bucking off the mattress.

When Erin comes, she falls forward onto her hands and knees, and Holtzmann kisses along her jaw, along her breast bone, then finally finds lips that are still gasping for breath, and pulls her closer. 

“God, I love you, thank you,” Erin whispers against her lips.

“For what? That was all you, baby. You did all the hard work. I should be thanking you.”

-

 

They spend the day after Christmas at a farmer’s market. 

Erin wakes at 5, her body-clock still confused by the time difference, and cleans the kitchen. Holtzmann sleeps. 

Erin could get a lot more done if she didn’t keep stopping to sit by her, now understanding entirely what Holtz meant about watching her sleep. Tiny, unimportant movements like the curl of her fingers against the comforter, and the flutter of her eyelashes, seem miraculous. She loses hours, watching her. She isn’t an attractive sleeper, not by a long shot; she snores and drools and flails her arms about. But it’s oddly beautiful all the same. Erin wishes they didn’t have to sleep, that they could spend every second of the day awake and breathing in every single inch of eachother. She doesn’t want to waste any time.

So, she cleans. Slowly.

They have breakfast. Erin walks to the cafe on the corner and picks up bagels for them both, and two huge cups of strong, black coffee. She pretends not to judge Holtzmann when she immediately pours an inordinate amount of creamer into hers.

The market is heaving with people, despite the low-hanging fog (“this is San Francisco, Erin, they’re used to it”), and Erin thinks under normal circumstances she’d be anxious, but with Holtzmann at her side, she isn’t. They have no responsibilities here, no reputations, no identities beyond each other.

She holds Holtzmann’s hand the whole time, excitedly buying cured meats and bottles of mulled ciders, and a big loaf of fluffy white bread from an elderly woman at a stall, who gazes at their joint hands and smiles, big and wide.

Holtzmann carries everything, until her arms are so filled with brown paper bags that she has to let go of Erin’s hand.

They visit Union’s Square, look at the big beautiful Christmas tree, and all the twinkling lights. 

“I don’t remember the last time I actually paid attention to a Christmas tree in New York,” Erin says, frowning, “I guess I don’t really notice my surroundings. I have my blinkers on.”

She glances at Holtzmann, and the blonde’s gaze is completely focussed on her, on the way the lights reflect off her hair, in her eyes. Her lips are curled up in a soft, peaceful smile. 

Erin suddenly feels overwhelmed by how at home she feels here. How much she doesn’t want to leave.

It starts to rain in the afternoon, and they dart for cover, dipping into stores they have no intentions of buying anything from (though Erin does pick out a garish San Francisco keychain for Abby in an over-priced gift shop) and rushing down narrow sidewalks, sheltering their paper bags from the downpour.

Holtzmann kisses her under the canopy of a coffee shop. Someone, somewhere, takes a photo. She hears the clicker go, but doesn’t care.

-

Erin’s fingers trace lightly over the lines of Holtzmann’s body as she drifts into sleep, before settling into the dip of her hip bone, her breath evening out.

The electricity that soars through every caress, every soft kiss, the warmth she finds in Erin’s eyes, in her smile… Holtzmann breathes every second of it in deeply. This is all she’s wanted for so long. Finally, she doesn’t have to yearn for it any longer. Finally, she doesn’t have to spend her time missing Erin so much that it hurts, deep in her bones, a pain she can’t get any relief from.

Even if it’s only for a couple of weeks, it feels like coming home.

-

On the 27th, Holtzmann has to go back to the lab.

“I'll be like, an hour, two hours tops. I have to check up on a few things, make sure nothing’s going to go poof… make sure nothing _has_ gone poof.”

She offers for Erin to come with, and Erin stumbles. She wants more than anything to go, to surround herself in all the things Holtzmann is most enthusiastic about, all the work she’s most proud of - and the work itself is fascinating - but the thought of meeting Rebecca Gorin is still terrifying. Not only is she an incredibly gifted and celebrated scientist, but she’s practically a mother to Holtzmann.

And Erin’s only interaction with her, so far, had been a total disaster.

She knows how much Gorin means to Holtzmann, how much it had hurt her to be embarrassed in front of her by Erin. It still plagues Erin every so often, knowing that she had been capable of doing that much damage, that her own stupid anxieties had almost ruined the best thing to ever happen to her.

She still kind of thinks Gorin might kick her ass.

“It’s okay,” she says, instead, smiling at Holtzmann, “I’ve got some work to catch up on myself.”

Something flashes across Holtzmann’s face - disappointment? - and Erin feels her heart sink. She knows how much it means to Holtz that Erin is interested in her work, that she meet Gorin, Holtzmann’s two most important people being together in the same room.

“I’ll come with you another day,” she promises, pressing her lips to Holtzmann’s.

-

Gorin is not in the lab.

She’s in Chicago for a few days, visiting her son. Then again, Holtzmann already knew that.

She gets to work.

-

Erin wakes to find Holtzmann chomping away at a breakfast of various kids’ cereals, mixed together in the same bowl. A brightly colored cartoon blares in the background.

“Waw fum?” Holtz asks, around a mouthful, holding out her spoon.

Erin thinks she should be disgusted, but it’s strangely endearing.

“I grew up in Battle Creek, home of cereal… I’ve had enough of cereal,” she says, settling in next to her on the couch. She presses a kiss to Holtz’s forehead, before she realises that the blonde is gaping at her, an expression competing with one from the cartoon on tv.

“How can anyone be sick of cereal?” she asks, in a voice that’s far too serious for this time of morning.

-

Some nights, when she can’t sleep, Erin lies there staring at the ceiling, listening to Holtzmann breathe, and for a while this all feels normal. She can imagine them living together, back in New York, the scurry of the chinchillas’ feet against the bottom of their wooden hutches, in an apartment where both their names are on the lease. She imagines them going into work together, it all becoming routine, but never boring. They’ll argue; all couples argue. Erin being uptight about something menial and unimportant, like laundry, or picking up groceries. She could never stay angry though, Holtzmann doing absolutely everything in her power to make her laugh, the grudge going forgotten immediately.

It’s frightening too, though. With Holtzmann 2,908 miles away, Erin has an excuse not to think too deeply about what all of this means. What it means for her, what impact being in this relationship is going to have on _her_.

Eventually, she’ll have to tell her parents.

It’s not like she’s ashamed of Holtzmann, of loving and being _in love_ with Holtzmann. But she’s spent her whole life trying to fit herself into this cookie-cutter idea of a woman, and this doesn’t fit into that, not at all.

Then again, neither does being a Ghostbuster.

She’s grown so much as a person, but she still worries. A part of her still feels like this is just another way of acting out, another lie she’s told herself to make her different.

It’s not easy being told for 30 years that you’re a liar, an attention seeker. It has its consequences.

But then her gaze falls on Holtzmann and she knows, she _knows_ deep inside of herself that this is real, this isn’t some phase, or some finger-up at her parents. She’s a forty-three year old woman, for god’s sake; it’s a bit late to be acting out. No other relationship she’s ever been in has felt like this, not even a fraction.

“Babe?” Holtzmann’s sleep-raw voice mumbles, and Erin blinks, realises she’s been staring for a long time, “I can hear your brain thinking too hard.”

She shifts down the bed, burying her face in Holtzmann’s shoulder, and releasing all the pent up anxiety that’s been swirling around in her gut. Holtz’s lips find a sweet spot behind her ear, a feather-light kiss, before she falls back asleep, arms circling Erin’s waist.

Erin drifts off to sleep, finally.

-

 

They go to the diner with the rocket glasses.

Holtzmann orders a multi-flavoured malt shake, the biggest burger on the menu, and wet fries. She wiggles her eyebrows at Erin as she orders those.

Erin gets a coffee, and ham and eggs.

(They split dessert, and it does come with a sparkler, but as soon as Holtzmann starts talking about modifications, Erin regrets ordering a dessert to share.

She eats one spoonful.)

They eat out somewhere different every day; diners, and dive bars, and odd little cafes. Holtzmann starts to give them reviews on the way back to the apartment, star-ratings and pun-filled descriptions like you’d find on Yelp. After a few days, Erin starts to join in.

It reminds her of Abby, and the underground food blog she runs in her downtime. She wonders if this is how they became friends.

They call and face-time Abby a couple of times, until she gets sick of the sight of them ‘being all ooey-gooey’ and tells them to cut it out. She’s back in New York from the 30th, and then Patty joins in, too. It’s odd being on the other side of it. For the first time in the week that Erin’s been here, she starts to feel home sick, wishes more than anything that she could have all three of her favourite people (…and Kevin, she supposes) in the same place at once, again.

-

“What are y’all doing for New Years?” Patty asks, “or don’t I wanna know?”

“Yes, we’ll be making love in time with the chimes of the new year, Pattylicious,” Holtzmann drawls, in a serious tone, causing Erin’s whole face to flush red.

“I knew it. I knew I didn’t wanna know, and I went there anyway,” Patty groans.

Holtz grins, continuing, “It’s the bagpipes that do it for me, my favourite part of the Hootenanny.”

“Yo, Holtzy, no. I don’t wanna hear any more about Erin’s _hootenanny._ I’m hanging up.”

-

“What _are_ we doing for New Years?” Erin breaks their kiss to ask, a while later.

“I have some ideas,” Holtzmann smirks, her eyes twinkling mischievously, before she draws Erin back in.

-

There are nights when they just can’t keep their hands off each other, nights where they spend hours and hours having slow, delicate sex, falling asleep with the sheets twisted around their legs, not waking until midday. It isn’t like anything Erin’s ever experienced before. Their bodies seem so in sync with each other, like planets that have fallen into alignment, but never shift, never leave one another. They don’t have to speak, so perfectly attuned to each other’s movements, to the sound of each other’s breathing, the curve of each other’s bodies. 

Erin knots their fingers together at the top of the bed, the other hand curving gently around Holtzmann’s shoulder, watching intently as she moves, not breaking eye-contact for a second. It’s intense, but in the best possible way, and she begins to think that maybe the ancient greeks were right, that they’re two halves of a whole, that the fact they found each other is somehow miraculous, but inevitable.

-

“I love you,” Holtzmann whispers, again and again and again, because she _can_.

-

Days seem to disappear into thin air. It’s the last day of the year before they know it, and Erin’s already feeling anxious about having to go home, even though it’s still five days away.

It’s still such a strange, foreign feeling to her, relying on somebody so completely. Previously, she’d clung onto relationships because she didn’t want to be alone, because when you’re a forty-something-year-old woman, you’re _supposed_ to be settled down, because that’s what everybody expects of you. She’d been miserable after every break up - even the ones she’d initiated - but never because she actively missed the men she dated. She hadn’t even liked most of them.

Erin’s never felt more accomplished, more fulfilled as a person as she has since falling into a job she truly adores, a culmination of her life’s work and experience, and alongside her two closest friends no less. But days without Holtzmann still feel empty. She isn’t sure how, after spending two weeks by Holtzmann’s side almost every hour of the day, she’s supposed to just go back to being alone, only able to contact Holtz through her phone or her laptop.

Something tells her, despite how blasé Holtzmann is about it all, she’s freaking out about it, too. Every time Erin brings up New York, Holtz somehow manages to change the subject in record time.

She'd thought it might be awkward, suddenly spending every day together in a capacity outside of work, but it’s been anything but. Holtzmann makes even the most boring and menial tasks entertaining. Erin feels like she’s laughed more in the months that she’s known her than she has in her whole life. Everything from grocery shopping to doing laundry, to idly watching garbage television, and even sleeping together; Holtzmann somehow manages to make every last one of them fun, always managing to make Erin laugh, even at the most inappropriate times. 

Her heart physically aches at the thought of going back to New York.

-

Holtzmann practically leaps on top of Erin, perhaps an indication of what Christmas would have been like if they’d had more time to plan.

Groggily stirring from sleep, Erin groans, trying to push her off.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” Holtzmann sings in a decibel that’s too early for the time of morning, “you make me happy, when skies are gaaaay.”

“That’s not how it goes,” Erin grumbles, covering her face with Holtzmann’s pillow.

“Sure it is!” Holtzmann beams down at her, “come onnnnn, I’ve got a whole day planned!”

“Another ten minutes,” Erin mumbles, as Holtz pulls the pillow away, peppering her face with wet kisses, “please?”

“R’okay,” Holtzmann pouts, clambering off her, “I’ll make coffee.”

-

Erin wakes to the sound of clattering, followed by a loud curse.

“Holtzmann?” she calls in alarm, scrambling to sit up.

“Nothing to worry about my beautiful little snowflake,” Holtzmann calls back, “stay where you are!”

Erin does as she’s told, reluctantly, and when Holtzmann emerges a few minutes later, she’s carrying a tray that’s overflowing with food, so much so that it wobbles haphazardly as she pushes the door open with her butt. She’s holding the cutlery in her mouth, for lack of hands, dropping it onto the bed before laying the tray out on Erin’s lap.

“What’s this?” Erin questions, scrunching her nose up.

“I didn’t know what your favourite breakfast was so I kind of made a bit of everything - or everything I know how to make, at least,” she looks nervous for the first time, her eyes dropping to the tray, one hand rubbing awkwardly at her ear, “I hope you like it.”

Erin smiles, reaching for the mug of coffee and quickly taking a long sip, before collecting her cutlery. The tray is laden with waffles and bacon, and pancakes and fruit, poached eggs on toast, some kind of pastry, and a huge steaming mug of coffee, as well as a tall glass of orange juice.

There isn’t a cereal in sight.

“You didn’t have to go to this much work,” Erin tells her, cutting off a small slice of waffle and dropping it into her mouth. Surprisingly, it tastes fantastic.

“Oh, this is just the start,” Holtzmann tells her, grinning wildly.

-

Despite the fact they’re at her apartment, and she has her own clothes, Holtzmann rifles through Erin’s pristinely packed suitcase, and steals hers. Erin emerges from the shower to find Holtzmann wearing one of her flannels, as if she doesn’t have countless of her own. She finds Holtz in one of her white fitted button downs, the sleeves rolled up, four buttons undone, a waistcoat thrown over it. The engineer even swipes one of her twee little sweaters, the kind with a peter pan collar, and unnecessary detailing, in a soft pink (yes _pink_ , and damn if it isn’t exactly the same shade as Holtzmann’s lips - a coincidence, of course, not _at all_ why she bought it because she isn’t that sentimental and lame. Not at all), and wears it under one of her sets of paint splattered over-alls. The worst part is _everything_ looks so much better on her, even the clothes that really truly shouldn’t.

Erin likes her space, doesn’t like people touching her stuff, likes everything to be kept in order. Somehow, though, Holtzmann’s hurricaned into her life, and she can’t quite seem to mind.

Erin has to take Holtzmann’s things in return. She lays claim to the worn, thready grey Nasa sweatshirt Holtzmann keeps at the end of the bed. The sleeves are longer than her arms, let alone Holtz’s. Various of her less eccentric shirts get tucked into skirts or paired with Erin’s smart, sensible jeans.

“I’m keeping this when you go back to New York,” Holtzmann tells her, one night, her breath warm on Erin’s face. She’s wearing Erin’s maroon jumper. The wool is itchy against Erin’s body.

“Are you now?” her lips curve into a smile, and Holtz presses a kiss to the top of Erin’s head, where her hair is messiest.

“Mmm - the other one doesn’t smell like you anymore.”

Raising an eyebrow, Erin nudges her playfully in the ribs, “what other one?”

Erin turns her head, and the smile on Holtzmann’s face is mischievous, glowing. 

“You let me whine on about not being able to find that for _weeks_ ,” Erin pouts, “you have _your own_ MIT sweatshirt!”

“Yeah! But I wanted _your_ one,” Holtzmann beams.

“You’re the worst,” Erin mumbles, but the kisses that she scatters across Holtzmann’s face seem to say otherwise.

-

The only thing Holtzmann will say about where they’re going is that Erin ought to wrap up warm. She digs around in a trunk under her bed, and slings something into her duffle bag, but won’t let Erin see. Erin hates surprises, but she trusts Holtz enough to know that whatever she has up her sleeve is probably not going to harm her, so she goes along with it. She pulls on thick woollen tights and a turtleneck sweater, the same skirt she wore on Christmas day, and a pair of sheep skin-lined boots.

When Holtzmann emerges, she’s wearing what looks like a vintage ski-jacket, bright turquoise, with a pink and white pattern across the back, over a pair of flared pants, one of her sets of yellow-tinted goggles resting high on her head.

She looks even more ridiculous than usual. And yet…

“See something you like?” Holtzmann asks, holding the lapels of her jacket by her thumbs and forefingers, and spinning around, striking a pose like the cover of an 80s magazine.

Erin flushes, but rolls her eyes, “if you're taking me skiing, Holtzmann…”

Scoffing, Holtzmann tugs her duffle bag over her shoulder, “you think there’s anywhere to skii in San Francisco?!”

“Well, no but…”

Holtzmann leans towards her, pressing a chaste kiss against her lips, “all will be revealed, I promise.”

With her crazy blonde hair blowing in the wind, and the even more eccentric than usual outfit, Erin thinks Holtzmann must look like her complete opposite as they trek through the city. Even Erin’s gloves are a plain and practical grey, the kind you can use on your phone screen. Holtzmann wears red leather gloves, the same kind she was wearing that very first time they met, though these ones actually have fingers.

As they approach Union Square, Holtzmann’s plans begin to become clear, and Erin can’t help but grin as she slots their fingers together.

“Ice skating?” Erin says, biting her lip.

“Ice skating.”

They pay for entry, and stop by the skate rental. Erin’s a little grossed out by the thought of wearing boots that have been worn by hundreds of other people, inspects them before she’ll strap them on.

Holtzmann, meanwhile, has her own skates. They’re silver, and worn, with neon yellow laces.

“Do you go skating a lot?” Erin asks, scrunching her nose.

“Ehhh, sometimes,” she says, shrugging. She nods her head in the direction of one of the girls behind the rental desk, and Erin follows her gaze, sees the teenager’s cheeks flush pink, “hey, Gina,” Holtzmann says, lifting her hand in a two-fingered salute. The girl looks down and away.

“Sometimes,” Erin repeats, with air quotes, but Holtzmann doesn’t offer any elaboration.

Erin remembers skating when she was really small, holding onto her dad’s hand, out on a frozen lake in Michigan. It was one of the first times she got to experience that giddy feeling of being good at something, a sensation she would then go on to chase for most of her life. As she’d grown older, she’d abandoned the ice, mostly because her anxiety had forced her to. She’d reached a point where being close to something as sharp as an ice skate blade was probably not a good idea. Other girls in her grade would be invited out ice skating on the weekends, by their friends, or by boys when they were a bit older, but never Erin.

Still, surprisingly, it comes back to her pretty quickly.

More surprising, however, is how graceful Holtzmann is on the ice. Erin watches in amazement as the blonde weaves in and out of children stumbling across the rink, spinning in circles with ease, gliding along as though she’s dancing around their lab back in New York, as if ice is no issue.

She quickly returns to Erin’s side, sliding her gloved hand into Erin’s.

“Sorry, got carried away,” she tells her, sheepishly grinning.

Erin rolls her eyes, but with no malice, “show off,”

Holtzmann skates backwards, sticking her tongue out and dragging Erin along with her. Erin is hesitant, struggles to keep up with Holtz’s strides to begin with, but by their third lap, she’s gotten into the swing of it, even if she isn’t anywhere near as impressive a skater as her girlfriend is.

Eventually, they get tired out, and trade the rink for a warm coffee house.

“Where’d you learn how to skate like that?” Erin asks, breaking off a chunk of banana muffin.

“You seem surprised that I’d be good at dancing on knives.”

Erin laughs, “well, when you put it like that…” she teases, popping muffin in her mouth and chewing slowly.

“I was training for the olympics but…” Holtzmann says, shrugging her shoulders.

Erin doesn’t know whether she’s joking or not. It’s often hard to tell.

-

"I have to stop off at the lab before our dinner reservations,” Holtzmann says, as soon as they get back to the apartment.

“Dinner reservations?”

Slipping out of her ski jacket, Holtzmann stares Erin down, “what? You think I can’t do fancy? I can do fancy.”

“I just… New Years isn't a big deal to me. You really didn’t have to go to this much effort to make it special.”

She watches Holtzmann’s face fall, and feels a pang of guilt, wishes she could take her words back. She didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s still bizarre to her, to be treated like she’s actually wanted, to be looked after and made to feel special. Part of her still doesn’t feel like she deserves this.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Erin asks, purposely changing the subject. She still feels uneasy at the prospect of meeting Gorin, but she also knows how important it is to Holtz, and she's willing to put aside her own anxieties to make Holtzmann happy.

Holtz tilts her head to one side, “I doooooo, but… youdon’thaveto.”

“I’d like to,” Erin tells her, smiling.

-

The lab is quiet and dark when they arrive, which seems unusual, but if Holtzmann expected it to be any different, she doesn’t say as much. She opens an electric box and flicks on a series of lights, and they make their way up to the second floor, where the room is practically humming with electricity. Small desk lights are on, and a couple of overhead ones, too, before Holtz turns on the rest.

Holtzmann’s work bench is easily identifiable as the one with the most mess on it. Considering how many machines she has to come in to check on, she doesn’t seem to have any more concern for safety here than she did in New York. She swings into her stool, and pushes herself down the work bench, fiddling with various machines on the way. Then she manoeuvres herself across to some larger machines, working her way through them with a flourish of her tools, and a headlamp she swipes from the top drawer of her desk.

Erin stands awkwardly by the bench, and watches. This is the Holtzmann she first fell in love with, she realises, unable to keep the smile from tugging at her lips. Holtzmann talking softly to her machines, prodding at them with pliers, dancing between them along to music only she hears. This is Holtzmann in her element. Where a part of her wants to ask questions about everything, wants to hear Holtzmann talk passionately about her creations, get lost in the mathematics and science and pure _genius_ behind each of them, another part of Erin is just happy watching, and doesn’t want to ruin this.

-

Erin emerges from the bathroom in a cream lace shift dress, not-quite knee length, paired with simple gold jewellery and pointed high heels. Her hair hangs loose around her shoulders, with her bangs pushed to one side. She smiles nervously at Holtzmann, and that’s when the blonde realises she’s staring.

“Ready?” Holtz asks, holding out her arm.

Teeth sinking into her bottom lip, Erin nods, “ready.” 

-

  Most of the tinkering Holtzmann does is purely for show, to kill some time. She flexes her fingers over a large piece of machinery at the side of the room that isn’t even plugged in, faffs with some of the wiring despite none of it being connected. She can feel Erin’s eyes on her from the other side of the room, and it almost makes her nervous.

Eventually, she moves back to her bench, and Erin moves closer, leans over her shoulder to look at one of the units that takes up the majority of her work space.

“I love watching you work,” Erin says, close to Holtzmann’s ear.

Holtz looks up, grins, “you like this, you should see me with a soldering iron,” she tells her, winking.

Erin’s laugh is loud and ugly and Holtzmann couldn’t love her more. She tells her this, bringing her closer, and snaking her arms around her waist, kissing her. Erin sighs against her lips, moves her hands into Holtzmann’s hair, tugs gently.

“As much as I like where this is going,” Holtzmann gasps, pulling away, “we’re very close to some pretty experimental machinery,”

Erin nods, though her hand is still cupping Holtz’s jaw, and her knee has found its way between her legs.

“And we have dinner reservations,” Holtzmann continues.

Erin nips at Holtzmann’s throat, enjoying the way she swallows thickly, then moves upwards, peppering kisses along her jaw, her hand moving its way down towards the buttons of her shirt - or rather Erin’s shirt, because Holtzmann’s pinched the white one again, this time paired with a sleek black jacket, and the tightest pants she owns - before Holtz bats it away.

“Nucleur stuff, dinner reservations,” Holtzmann mumbles again, when Erin’s mouth covers hers.

Erin whines, peeling herself away.

“Where are these reservations anyway?” she asks, flattening out her dress. Holtzmann’s eyes twinkle in a way that’s almost dangerous.

“You remember where our first kiss was?”

Erin frowns, “Holtzmann, if you’re taking me to Denny’s dressed like—-“

“Not Denny’s,” Holtz insists, looping their fingers together. She rubs her thumb over the back of Erin’s hand, and Erin stares at her for a moment, before a smile creeps over her lips, and realisation sets in.

“I kissed your cheek,” she says, scrunching up her nose, “we were out on the roof at the firehouse, and I was upset because it was New Years and…”

“And that asshole Pete had just broken up with you…”

Erin narrows her eyes, “yes, okay, I could have done without—“

“And I told you you deserved better,” Holtzmann finishes, softly, looking down at her shoes before glancing up at Erin through her eyelashes, “I stand by that.”

Erin meets her gaze and holds it there a long moment, “I got better,” she murmurs, brushing her fingers lightly through a loose wave of Holtzmann’s hair.

“That was the moment I decided if I left New York without kissing you, I’d regret it for the rest of my life,” Holtzmann tells her, unusually solemn. She reaches for her ear, a nervous habit, and Erin covers her hand in her own. Holtz doesn’t do well with feelings, with expressing emotion in a raw, serious way, and if anything that makes Erin more appreciative of it. 

“Only took you a couple months,” Erin jokes, but she feels like tears are going to start pricking at her eyes any second now, and it’s taking everything she’s got not to give into them. 

Holtzmann must sense this, because she tugs Erin by the hand, and leads her to the elevator, only pausing to secure her leather jacket around Erin’s shoulders. She doesn’t explain where they’re going, but somehow, Erin knows. When the elevator doors open on the top floor, she follows Holtzmann up a metal staircase, through a heavy fire exit, and what she finds there makes the breath catch in her throat, and she’s crying for real.

“How…. you…” she tries, but it’s too much, and she’s quickly covering her mouth with her hand, and furiously wiping tears away.

The roof itself is similar enough to the one back in New York. A roof is a roof is a roof. But Holtzmann has turned it into something spectacular. The metal safety rail has fairy-lights wrapped all the way around it, glowing softly against the dark sky. There’s a table set up far enough away from the edge that they can look out, but won’t risk falling. Even aside from the dinner plates with serving covers, and the glasses, and the bottle of champagne cooling in a bucket, the table is beautifully lit by tea-lights and candles in varying sizes, creating constellations against a black table cloth.

“I know you had a crappy New Years last year so… I wanted to fix that,” Holtzmann says, her voice awkward and monotonous. She’s fidgeting, any remanence of the suave, confident Holtz that Erin met that first day in the lab buried under anxiety, and perhaps… hope?

Erin finally turns back to her, wiping the last of her tears away, and tugging Holtzmann towards her.

“I love you,” she says, and it comes out a little strangled from crying, which just makes them both laugh, “god, I love you so much.”

She presses her lips gently to Holtzmann’s cheek, and then finds her mouth, and she kisses her like she’s never going to get to kiss her again.

-

The idea of being 2,908 miles away from Holtzmann had at one time felt crippling, suffocating. It had felt like building a fragile wall around her heart, a heavy weight on her chest that she couldn’t move. She had wondered if it was better to not love at all than to love from afar, to have to constantly be worrying that Holtzmann would fall out of love with her, that she might realise, from afar, that she wasn’t worth the effort, that the whole thing had been some kind of act of convenience, that it couldn’t transcend distance.

They watch fireworks at midnight. Erin knows Holtz isn’t responsible for these fireworks, but she thanks her for them anyway, and they make her cry all the same. She looks at the moon, and she reminds herself that this is the same moon she sees back in New York, the same sky, just from a slightly different angle.

Distance means loving someone enough to commit to loving them from hundreds, maybe even thousands of miles away. It’s squeezing your eyes closed and listening to somebody’s laugh on the other end of a phone line and pretending that they’re lying next to you. It’s mapping out every angle of a person, every element of their being, and holding onto it tight, never letting it go. It’s knowing that you can love somebody not only despite the miles between you, but _because_ of it, knowing that if you can love so much, even from afar, you’ll be unstoppable when you’re together.

Erin lies her head on Holtzmann’s shoulder, and closes her eyes. She feels the San Francisco breeze against her face, the tickle of blonde curls against her cheekbone. Holtzmann’s arm is firm around her shoulders.

She’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me at @katemckutie on tumblr.


End file.
